The Axis

White moths have crept through the cracks
in the window screens and now they trace
dizzy spirals over my snowdrift comforter. Up
to the lights in the high ceiling, down again,
dazed, disoriented, more in love than ever
with what they believe is the moon.

photograph by Paul Tyler

1 comment:

chris said...

this one feels like that ghostly beauty when a child, gazing out the window, suddenly sighs like a full grown adult; ambagious melancholy tamed by tender innocence.

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